


The Hispaniola Menagerie

by i_am_still_bb



Series: The Hispaniola Menagerie [1]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dehumanization, M/M, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:20:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24962914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_still_bb/pseuds/i_am_still_bb
Summary: Ross does not like birthdays. Don’t misunderstand; he is fine with buying gifts, inflating balloons, and hiding behind couches as long as it is for other people. He would rather spend his birthday pretending that it did not exist. He does not want cake; he does not want well wishes; and he most certainly does not want gifts.“Birthdays aren’t about you. They’re about the people who love you showing you just how much they adore you.”Elizabeth had pinched his cheek after that particular pronouncement when they were teenagers.Instead he would be spending the evening in the village followed by rigged games, rides of questionable safety, and what the tickets advertised as “England’s Largest Display of Human Oddities.”--WinterFRE Prompt #35: The merman had been tied up, beaten bloody and by now was only weakly spasming against the cage.
Relationships: Jim Hawkins/Ross Poldark
Series: The Hispaniola Menagerie [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2005771
Comments: 9
Kudos: 19





	1. Birthdays

Ross does not like birthdays. Don’t misunderstand; he is fine buying gifts, inflating balloons, and hiding behind couches as long as it is for other people. He would rather spend his birthday pretending that it did not exist. He does not want cake; he does not want well wishes; and he most certainly did not want gifts. 

But Elizabeth never listened.

And that is how he found himself holding four shiny red tickets in his hands. The cheerful card that had cats on the front was filled with Elizabeth’s impeccable, round, and looping penmanship. He rolls his eyes when he sees her postscript about inviting Demelza, his house mate since university. The tickets were for the traveling circus later that day. 

Ross frowns. He had heard George bragging about buying tickets for everyone in his company for a “team bonding” evening. Ross cannot suppress a snort even when thinking about it. At the time he had rolled his eyes and turned his attention more firmly to other matters, but that had not stopped him from overhearing the ridiculous price that even the ordinary tickets fetched, much less these deluxe, everything included, plus a backstage tour tickets. 

He would rather travel into the city for an afternoon of window shopping (one of Demelza’s favorite activities that he pretended to abhor) followed by dinner and a show of some kind. A day that would be whole-heartedly approved of by Elizabeth and Francis if he had been allowed a say. 

_“Birthdays aren’t about you. They’re about the people who love you showing you just how much they adore you.”_ Elizabeth had pinched his cheek after that particular pronouncement when they were teenagers.

Instead he would be spending the evening in the village followed by rigged games, rides of questionable safety, and what the tickets advertised as “England’s Largest Display of Human Oddities.”

Ross was willing to bet money that he had seen and studied all of their “oddities” when he was at school studying Cryptid Biology. He had come back home after realizing that the only jobs he could get with that degree would require him to lock up his patients, something that he had seen far too much of during his time in the military. It made him sick. Caging non-sentients like the chimera was one thing. It was like seeing a tiger in the zoo with all the same moral ambiguities. But when it came to caging the Fae and other humanoid, sentient cryptids, he could not stomach it. They were treated worse than murders in prison, worse than enemy combatants in military engagements simply because the law said that they were “ _less than_ _human.”_

But Elizabeth had insisted, Francis pouted, and Demelza took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze and that was how he found himself standing in line listening to calliope music and waiting for a purple haired teenager with slit-pupil contacts to punch their tickets.

“I wonder if she’s one of the oddities,” Ross says while leaning over to whisper in Demelza’s ear.

“Shush! You’re a fine one to talk, Ross Poldark!” she scolds teasingly. “You should have combed your hair this week. They might mistake you for one of their monsters and put you in a cage as well!”

“I bet you’d like to see that.”

“A lot of people would,” she shoots back. Francis is quick to agree.

The midway is like the yearly carnivals that always roll through Cornwall. There are rigged games and shady men who always manage to entice young men in love to try their luck against the game to win their sweethearts a prize. Ross had done the same when he and Demelza were in school and had decided to give dating a try. 

They were better off as friends and roommates, but Demelza had gotten a very large green elephant out of the whole affair.

Before they reached the tents that all the paths seemed to lead to they had fought off untold numbers of midway workers, Demelza had purchased a bag of kettle corn that was almost as tall and she was, Ross had bought fried vegetables (he always gave the mushrooms to Demelza who enjoyed them far more than he did), and Francis and Elizabeth had gone off in search of elephant ears and deep fried oreos.

When Ross and Demelza reached the gate that encircled the inner tents their bracelets were scanned and Ross fought down the jittery unease that had increased the closer they got to this part of the carnival. 

Within that second gate there were smaller tents facing inwards that held cages and tanks filled with cryptids. Ross frowns at the conditions of the non-sentient and sentient cryptids. The animals on his farm are treated far better than these poor people and beasts. The werewolf’s fur is patchy and matted, the merman’s tale is pale and yellowed in the cloudy water of his confinement, and the thunderbird’s wings are clipped and faded.

Ross looks away from the cramped cages with oracles, satyrs, centaurs and others; focusing his attention on his food and Demelza’s excited chatter.

“I can’t believe that they’re finally back!” she says excitedly. “Do you remember the last time they were in town? We came on that school trip; remember?” 

Ross nods. He does remember. He also remembers being sent to sit on the bus with the driver after he had tried to open some cages.

The large red and white striped tent is crowded, but Demelza manages to find a seat somewhere near the front where they settle down. The tent smells like fresh hay and animals; it smells like a barn. 

“Do you have a program? I can’t remember what performance this is supposed to be,” Elizabeth says as she squeezes into the spot that Ross and Demelza had saved for them. 

Ross clenches his jaw. Seeing this Demelza slips her hand into his and answers Elizabeth’s question. “It’s the chimera show. See?” Demelza holds out her program for Elizabeth to inspect. 

Elizabeth takes the brochure and folds it back to see the show times and descriptions. “Look Francis,” Elizabeth pokes at the slick, primary colored paper, “they have a mermaid show, but it looks like we’ll miss it, and,” her voice increases in pitch with excitement, “a minotaur! I thought that those were extinct.”

“You okay?” Demelza asks leaning close so as to not be overheard.

Ross’ answering nod is short and his jaw is set. He claps when the lights dim and the ringmaster steps into an eerie blue spotlight. 

The chimera with its lion head, goat head, and snake tail follows instructions at the crack of a whip. The snake head snaps at every opportunity and Ross feels a little bit of disappointment every time that it misses its mark. But then he reminds himself that a bit is unlikely to do any real damage because most menageries pull the fangs from the snake’s mouth to render it impotent. 

He tenses without being aware of it until Demelza squirms to loosen his grip on her hand. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Do you want to leave?”

Ross shakes his head. They are near the front and their departure would surely draw attention.

Eventually the lights come back on. Ross rises to leave, but Elizabeth catches his shirt. “Didn’t you hear what the ringmaster said? The backstage tour leaves from here in a few minutes.”

He shrugs off her hand and Demelza’s concerned glance. “I just need to get a drink. I’ll be back before it starts.”

Ross took as long as he could hoping that he would miss the tour’s departure; then he would be able to sit in the car until the other’s returned. 

“My name is Silver and this is my menagerie,” a booming voice fills the tent when Ross returns with a bottle of water dangling from his fingers. 

Elizabeth waves her hand at him excitedly and a grumpy employee scans the barcode on his admittance bracelet.

“... very excited to share my collection with you! I have spent years traveling and collecting only the best!”

Ross stops listening.

Backstage, in the corridors between tents and behind cages, it is quite untidy. Employees in black shirts bearing the Hispaniola Menagerie logo hurry around. Some carry buckets; some carry trays. The thing they all have in common is the fact that they all look unhappy and harried. 

One employee interrupts Silver’s monologue about how he found a Mothra. Silver’s face goes dark with fury instantly. 

Ross manages to catch some of what the one employee is saying, “I don’t think you should take them down there, there been a _problem…_ ”

“Nonsense,” Silver snaps. “These good folks want to see a werewolf up close.” He smiles magnanimously at the small group of ten.

His glare is enough to send the employee scurrying away from Silver and away from the corridor between cages where there is a “problem.”

Silver continues walking backwards and regalling them with stories that Ross does not hear. He twists the plastic water in his hands. It snaps and crackles.

Snarled swears rises over Silver’s thunderous voice. They see the _problem_ before Silver does.

A large man with dark eyes and scars looms over a figure that is tiny in comparison.

Ross recognizes the pallid scales.

The merman had been tied up, beaten bloody and by now was only weakly spasming against the cage.

Silver breaks away from the small group, “What is the problem here?”

“The damn merman is refusing to shed his skin, again. And I can’t put him in his cage until he does.” He spits.

The merman flinches away when the spittle lands on his bare skin. He turns eyes that are a deep blue to them. His expression begs for help through the dirt that streaks his face and obscures the bruising around one eye. The blood from his nose stands out against the grim.

“Well, get on with it,” Silver barks with a sharp flick of his eyes to the merman.

Turning back to his guests his face and voice loses all of its irritation. “This is just a minor problem. We often have problems when some of the exhibits get unruly, but we deal with it as humanely and as quickly as possible.

Now over here we have…”

Ross has not taken his eyes off the handler and his unfortunate charge. 

“Come on,” Demelza says quietly and tugs on his hand. “You can’t help him.”

Then he sees something that he had missed before. In the handler’s grip is a long black rod that crackles and flashes blue as he approaches the merman who is curling into himself and the cage bars.

Before he can think about what he is doing he is moving. 

He shoves the handler away from the merman. He shouts.

He grabs for the cattle prod only for it to be swung at him. It makes contact with his ribs.

He punches. Sharp pain flashes when his knuckles connect.

They are on the ground. Ross has a hand tangled in the handler’s shirt. His free hand pushing the handler’s arms down, but the handler has a fistful of Ross’ hair.

“ENOUGH!” Silver’s voice reverberates on the steel cages and everything goes silent.

Ross loosen his grip and swipes at the blood that he can now feel on his chin from a split lip. He licks it instinctively and tastes the burst of metal.

“I want you,” he points at Ross, “out of here. I never want you to come back. If I see you again I won’t hesitate to call the authorities.”

That gets Ross’ back up again. “ _I_ should be the one calling the authorities. You can’t use cattle prods! It’s illegal and it certainly isn't _humane_ ,” he shouts. 

“I think you’ll find that it is not as of 2018,” Silver says coldly. “Leave.”

Ross ignores him. He scoops up the water bottle from where it fell and squats down next to the merman. “Hey,” he says quietly and opens the bottle. “I drank from it, but…”

The merman snatches the bottle and pours it into his mouth. Not a small amount spills on his face and chest. Ross can see that the man is older than he thought. Dark blonde stubble covers his jaw. There are more bruises that he can see up close. The makeup the once covered them is smudged and running. 

The merman swallows the water and tries to wipe his face with a hand, but is brought up short by his chains. “I…”

Ross does not get to hear what the merman was going to say because he his yanked to his feet by Silver’s massive hand. 

“Leave.”

Ross is about to protest but he sees the crowd of employees now standing behind Silver. He also catches Demelza’s anxious face.

He leaves without a word to anyone. Demelza hurries to catch up with him and when she tries to comfort him he snaps at her and shakes her off.


	2. Chapter 2

“ _ Tu vas bien, mon garcon? _ ”

When he does not respond the question is directed to someone else. “ _ Peux-tu le voir? Est-ce qu’il va bien? _ Can you see him? Is he okay?”

“ _ Oui _ , Viktor, I can see him,” Erin, one of the Gwragedd Annwn, replies. Her voice is pitched low to avoid being overheard.

“But is he okay?” Viktor insists.

“I don’t know,” is Erin’s quiet reply.

“I’m…” Jim’s voice is hoarse and his lips feel cold and numb.

Erin quietly pads across her cage to the side that is closest to Jim’s. He can see her across the narrow aisle even though his vision is spotty. Her silver streaked hair glints in the harsh artificial lights. He has always felt bad for her because she knew something different, something more. She had been trapped by a man who had pretended to love her who had then sold her to the highest bidder. She had been passed around ever since. Jim had never known a different life, but he had heard about it from Erin, Viktor, Frang, and others who had passed through the hands of John Silver and his menagerie. Not that the menagerie called them were called by their real names. The gilt signs that were hung on their cages for shows called them the Welsh Witch,  _ La Bete de Gevaudan _ , and other sensationalist nonsense. And if they were given a name by Silver, his Beast Master, or their underlerings their feelings were never taken into consideration. Erin had told him once that she could no longer remember all the names that she had been given, but Jim suspected that there were some that she had chosen to forget.

At his words there is a great shifting from Viktor’s cage. They are most often placed side by side with a solid steel panel separating them; this prevents any kind of physical contact and means that Jim very rarely sees his friend. “ _ Remercier les dieux _ ,” Viktor says softly, under his breath. “I thought they killed you.”

Jim stretches his stiff fingers. “I think he wanted to,” Jim says slowly. “I don’t remember much after my performance.” His shaking fingers find the large burn marks on his bare thigh, “But I remember enough.” 

He catches Erin watching him and he pulls his hand away; drawing his knees to his chest. Her eyes narrow, but she says nothing.

“It was nice to see someone put Jack in his place,” Viktor rumbles. “That bastard struts around thinking that he can do anything to anyone.”

“But he can,” Jim says quietly. His fingers find burns again. This time some older ones on his lower abdomen. He wishes for something that he cannot identify because he has spent his whole life in a cage. He knows that he wishes they would leave his skin with him. He is anxious when it is not in sight. And he wonders what the sea is like. He has only ever known the water in pools and tanks that is changed irregularly and never often enough.

Viktor snorts, “He had a bloody nose afterwards. It might have even been broken.”

Jim’s lips twitch into a smile involuntarily, “Darn, that’ll ruin his good looks.” 

The three of them laugh, but their mirth does not last. The noise draws the attention of one of the nighttime security guards. He snaps at them and tells them to “quit with their racket.”  After that Viktor and Jim carry on a slow, quiet conversation until a worker comes through with their dinners. 

* * *

“Keep your flashlight down,” Ross hisses through his teeth.

“I’m sorry, Ross,” Mark says, but he does not sound the least bit sorry. “I’ve just never been to one of these. The tickets you know.”

“It’s not worth it.”

Mark gives Ross a skeptical look, not that Ross sees it, and tries to peer into tents and cages without lifting his flashlight beam from the trampled and deadened grass. 

“It’s around here somewhere,” Ross grumbles to himself as he peers down one of the artificial roads behind the main tents. Without the colors of the tents and lights to guide them the menagerie is like a maze. 

“Are you lost?” Mark asks as he looks around the corner.

“No,” Ross bites. “I’m just getting my bearings.”

Both men jump when something large shifts in the cage behind them.

“What are you doing here?” A deep, accented voice rumbles from the cage.

Mark makes an undignified noise when he sees the hulking shadow. He jumps back and, stumbling over his own feet, falls down. 

Ross stands his ground; his flashlight still resolutely pointed at the ground. “I’m here for the merman.”

The shadow moves closer and this time Ross can see light reflected off his too-long incisors. “I remember you. What do you want with  _ mon garcon _ ?”

This gives Ross pause. He had not articulated his desire into anything more concrete than  _ we must do something. _ “To see him free,” Ross replies quietly after a moment. 

The voice is gentler now, but sad. “He is next to me,” the head indicates the furthest side of his own cage. “They gave him something a while back; I don’t think that he will wake. They keep props and such in that tent.” He gestures again. “That’s where his skin will be.”

“Thank you.”

“Take care of him. Or I will find you.  _ Et je déchirerai ta chair _ .” The last part is growled and even though Ross does not quite understand the words the meaning is unmistakable. 

* * *

Demelza startles awake when she hears the screen door clatter loudly against the wooden frame. When it wakes her the second time she wraps her robe around her body and tiptoes down the stairs. Light seems into the hall from the parlor, but they have been dimmed as far as possible.

“Good lord, Ross, you didn’t,” she breathes when she can see the scene in the parlor. 

He pauses when he sees her. His eyes meet hers for a moment before he looks away.

He turns his attention back to the slumped figure who is only being held upright by Ross’ white-knuckled grip.

The figure’s long, tangled hair hangs in his face. It is caught under the strap of a satchel that was slung precariously across his body.

“Ross,” Demelza whispers. “What have you done?”

Ross gently maneuvers the man onto the couch in front of the fireplace and its warm, artificial glow before he looks up to Demelza. “I couldn’t leave him there.”

Demelza shakes her head. “Judas,” she bites her lower lip, seeming to consider for a moment. She straightens and any of her previous uncertainty is gone, “What do you need?”

Ross, moving quickly to the sink to wet a washcloth, seems not to hear her. He squeezes the excess water into the metal sink with a plinking splash. He uses it to start cleaning away the dried blood and dirt revealing a handful of light freckles against pale skin. 

Demelza steps close. She brushes a lock of now damp hair from the merman’s face. “Is he okay?”

“I think they sedated him after we left,” Ross says tightly. He folds the cloth over to reveal a bright, clean section before he resumes his task. “Can you make up the spare bed?” He asks without looking at Demelza.

She nods and pads quietly out of the room.

Ross looks down at the merman’s face and sighs. He briefly wonders if he acted rashly, but he quickly squashes that feeling.

Later he covers the merman with a light blanket and leaves a glass of water on the table and a small pile of clean clothes on a chair. Ross did not like leaving him in filthy clothes, but hated the thought of forcing him to do something that he could not consent to.  He leaves the satchel with his skin in it beside the bed.

He pauses at the door before flipping the lightswitch. He uses his phone’s flashlight to light his way to his room. When he turns it off his home is engulfed in silence and darkness.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

The first report goes out on the 6am news that Ross plays while he feeds the animals and mucks out their stalls. 

**_~ A Dangerous Cryptid Went Missing Last Night From A Menagerie In Cornwall. ~_ **

Static crackles through the broadcast. 

Ross wipes his hand on his pants and reaches for the nobs to finetune the station and turn up the volume. 

_ ~ John Silver, the owner of Hispaniola Menagerie, says that a dangerous cryptid escaped from it’s cage last night. Listeners are advised to be on the lookout for anything unusual. And if they see anything they should call 9-9-9 immediately. They should not approach the animal for their own safety. ~ _

“What a fucking load of rubbish,” Ross mutters to himself remember how helpless the merman had looked during their first encounter, his rescue, and when Ross had looked in on him earlier that morning before heading out to do his chores. 

One of the cows lows at him.

“Alright, alright, Bessie,” Ross reaches for her fuzzy ear and gives her a scratch. “I’ll milk you. Just let me get the bucket.”

* * *

When Jim starts to wake the first thing he is aware of is that he is not in his cage in the menagerie. He is in a bed. The bedding smells like open fields. He resolutely keeps his eyes closed. If this is a dream then he wants it to go on as long as possible.

He wakes slowly and everything has the surreal quality that it always does after he’s been drugged. Everything is soft and fuzzy. The pillow under his cheek is soft and crinkles faintly when he moves. His own breath is the only thing that he can hear near at hand. Further away there are other sounds, footsteps, voices that he does not recognize.

He opens his eyes to a slit to survey his surroundings. The walls are painted a cool grey. Immediately across from him is a desk covered with papers and files that are stacked haphazardly.

The door is shut and he can see no one else.

Jim sits up slowly and experimentally stretches, half expecting to find himself chained to the bed, Silver having made good on his promise to sell Jim to the highest bidder. 

He places his feet on the floor and takes a moment to savor the sensation of sitting on something comfortable rather than squatting or sitting on the metal floor of his cage. A chair next to the bed has a small pile of clean clothes on it.

He spreads his toes on the floor and presses them into the plush carpet. He fully opens his eyes and looks at his feet. A bag is open on the floor to reveal the contents. 

Jim freezes. 

He reaches out and touches the semi-opaque scales of his skin reverently. The ridges catch on his fingertips. He gingerly lifts the bag to his lap.

His vision blurs and it takes him a moment to realize that he is crying.

He hastily wipes the tears away and lifts his skin from the bag. It is all there. Undamaged. He hugs it to his chest and curls forward. He has not had access to his skin without the watchful eyes of Silver or his beast master since he reached puberty. He presses his face to it and inhales deeply. 

His eyes snap open and his joy disappears when a thought occurs to him. This could all be some cruel joke planned by Silver, one of his cronies, or someone else who would pay top dollar for a “real British merman” as Silver liked to brag.

Carefully he folds his skin and puts it back in the bag. He closes it and pushes it far beneath the bed. He is loathe to part with it, but he does not want it to be taken away again, for it to be used to keep him captive once more. He looks at the clothes and then down to his own clothes that were once clean and free of holes. He walks to the door, not wanting to take the clothes, to give whoever is out there any sense of ownership over him. 

Jim presses his ear to the wooden door. A cool draft of air floats over his feet. His hand rests on the round doorknob. He notes distractedly that there is a lock on  _ this  _ side of the door. Probably an oversight that would be quickly corrected. 

Footsteps reach Jim as they approach the door. He tenses. His fingers tighten on the doorknob. He presses the lock. A minor protection, but it calms the pounding of his heart by a small amount.

The footsteps pass his door and he hears another door swing open and then shut again muffling the noise. When the unseen door swings open again the person is talking on the phone.

_ “Yes, Demelza, I have seen the news. I’ve seen it. I’ve heard it. And you know that it’s all bullshit.” _

There’s a pause and the feet pass Jim’s door again. There is a slight pause just outside the door before they continue on.

_ “Do you really think our local PCs are that good at their jobs?” _ The voice laughs. It’s warm and Jim wonders if the laugh is deceiving, if it belongs to someone cruel. 

_ “Yes. I’ll make sure that everything is good here. I don’t make a habit of inviting people like PC Prichard into my house for afternoon tea.” _

The voice and steps get further away and Jim strains to hear. He debates trying his luck and opening the door so he can hear better. But that would break the sanctuary of the room. Whatever awaits him outside the room would infiltrate the quiet room with it’s cool gray walls and the comfortable bed. It could ruin the small amount of safety and privacy that he has.

_ “I’ll see you later… Yeah… Love you, too.” _

The footsteps stop. A muffled sound of many voices replaces it.Jim thinks it’s a television. He remembers watching one with a previous Beastmaster’s daughter. He had often wondered how different the menagerie would have been if Liam had not been killed by the minotaur in an “accident.” His daughter, Minerva had left and Jim had never seen her again. But for those few years he and Minerva had been friends. Liam had treated them well, making sure that they were well cared for, medicine, blankets, and plenty to eat. They had still lived in cages. They had still been forced to perform. But life had been far better than it was before and after Liam’s time with the menagerie.

The thought of Liam and Minerva and their kindness gives Jim the strength that he needs to open the door. 

The hall is empty. The carpeting continues and there is a door to his left and to his right there is another door and the hallway opens up into a room.

From where he stands Jim can see the back of a man’s head. He is sitting on the couch looking at a television that Jim cannot see. 

The man lifts a fork to his mouth, but his eyes remain focused elsewhere.

Then Jim can smell the food. And he is struck with how hungry he is, how hungry he always is. 

Jim walks down the hall, quietly, softly, toe, ball, heel, making as little noise as possible.

When he stands on the threshold between the hallway and the room he stops. He can see the television and he is standing behind the couch. 

The man’s plate of foot is precariously balanced on a knee. In the hand not holding a fork, he is holding a book open. He drops food on his shirt while Jim watches. He swears and mops it up. And then his head snaps up.

Jim takes a step back. Tensing to run. 

But the man just looks at the television.

Jim looks up and actually listens. A newscaster is talking. And he hears the name of the menagerie. He feels sick. And then he hears the part about the “escaped cryptid.” He frowns.

The screen jumps to another camera where a reporter is holding a mic out to Silver and interviewing him.

Jim feels sick. He almost wishes that he was back at the menagerie. At least he would know what to expect. But everyone thinks that he escaped. Silver also mentioned “stolen.” And it makes Jim nervous. 

He opens his mouth to speak.

Nothing comes out. 

He tries again.

“Why am I here?” Jim asks roughly. His hands are clenched into white knuckled fists.

The man whips around, almost spilling his food, and dropping his book. His eyes are wide when he sees Jim. He fumbles for the remote and turns the television off.

“You’re awake.”

Jim nods.

“You can sit if you want,” he gestures to the empty space on the couch. 

Jim looks at it warily. He rounds the couch, his fingers trailing on the fabric that is slick and soft beneath his fingertips. He sits on the far edge of the couch, as far away as possible from the man. 

They stare at each other for several long moments. 

Ross clears his throat. “How are you feeling?”

Jim shrugs.

“I can get you some lunch, there’s only leftovers, but I could also make you something. Or is there something else that you want or would like?” Ross’ words trip over each other in a rush. 

Jim looks up and their eyes meet. “I would feel better if I knew why I was here.”

Ross sets his plate aside and picks up his fallen book, buying time before he has to answer. “I…” he starts. “I really hate those bloody carnivals. I hate seeing people in cages.”

“According to the law we aren’t people,” Jim says quietly, his blue eyes steady and unwavering. “Wild animals are treated better than we are,” he continues bitterly. “At least wild animals are safe from hunters most months of the year.”

“Laws can be wrong.”

* * *

Late that evening after Jim has eaten and been convinced to take a shower and change. He still is not entirely convinced that he should trust Ross. He’s not even sure if he should believe that that is the man’s real name. He is tense. He is waiting for the other shoe to drop.

When Demelza had gotten home and shouted through the house Jim had jumped to his feet and been halfway to the door before Ross had a chance to say anything.

Ross had reached for Jim’s wrist, but stopped before grabbing it. “It’s okay. I promise,” his eyes were wide and pleading. “She’s just my housemate. She knows that you’re here, she helped me last night. She’d never say anything. I promise.”

When Ross went out to do evening chores Jim had followed him. He does not trust Ross yet, but the idea of being left alone in the house while simultaneously not being able to keep an eye on Ross made him nervous.

“Do you want to take a walk with me?” Ross asks, putting a shovel back on its hook.

“Why?” 

“I want to show you something.”

Jim says nothing, but something on his face has Ross backpedaling.

“Sorry. I promise that it’s nothing bad. My land runs up the coast. The sea is just over there,” he gestures out through the barn door. “I thought that you might like to see it. But we don’t have to. We can stay here. Or you could go alone if you would like.”

Jim looks in the direction that Ross had pointed. He slips his hand inside the satchel that he has slung across his chest. His fingers trace the scales of his skin.

“I’ll take a walk with you,” Jim says quietly.

Jim walks silently by Ross’ side to the towering white cliffs that overlook the ocean. Its waves glint and flash in the setting sun’s light.

Ross breaks the silence, “I want you to know that you can leave whenever you want. You’re not a prisoner here.”

Jim looks at Ross who is looking out over the sea. He nods, but says nothing.

“I do think that you should stay here a while, until you are stronger, more comfortable, but I will not force you to do anything that you do not want.”

They pause. And Jim looks out over the sea and the sun that has almost disappeared.

“What is your name?” Ross asks. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Jim does not say anything for several long minutes. He exhales. “Silver called me Triton, after the character in the Greek myth.”

He does not say anything else for a while. “I don’t remember what my mother named me, but my friends called me Jim.”

A smile tugs at Ross’ lips, “Why Jim?” It was not what he had been expecting.

Jim shrugs. “Viktor… I guess you’d know him as  _ La Bete de Gevaudan _ , the werewolf… heard the name once and thought that it would suit me. He said he knew the name from a book he had read as a boy. He didn’t remember any specifics. It was nice to have a name of my own.

“Viktor told me a lot of things. He told me what things were like before everything changed. He remembered having his first change in the woods and his family was there and he was surrounded by support and love. He went to school with other children. The only real difference between him and other kids was that he didn’t show up to school when the moon was full. He didn’t remember what changed or when exactly changed. Only that it started slowly.”

Ross clasps his hands behind his back. “How did you end up there?”

“I actually don’t really know,” Jim says quietly. “I know that I was sold to them as soon as I could leave my mother. I think I was about two. Silver kept me in his ‘Petting Zoo’ until I reached puberty.”

They stand together in silence and watch the sun set the rest of the way and the world get wrapped in darkness. Ross wants to say something, but he has no idea what he should say.


	4. Chapter 4

“He can’t stay here any longer, Ross,” Demelza says the moment that Ross walks through the door into the kitchen.

“Whatever happened to ‘Good afternoon, Ross. How was your day? How about some tea?’” Ross says dropping his bag to the floor. He shuts the door that separates the kitchen from the rest of the house. The hallway is mercifully empty. This is not a conversation that he wants Jim to overhear. Jim who was already worried about putting Ross in danger by his mere presence. 

Ross had been worried that Silver would figure out that it was him who had freed Jim, but identification had never been checked and people from all of the county had been at that fair. A picture had gone out on the news, but it had been a very poor likeness. The only thing that it had gotten right was the unruly hair.

Ross drops heavily into a chair and clicks on the electric kettle.

“It isn’t safe,” Demelza says.

“Indeed,” Ross grumbles.

“I’m serious, Ross.”

Ross reaches for the kettle when it boils and fills a mug that he had left on the table after breakfast. He wraps his chilled fingers around the mug. Fall was well on its way and the days were shorter and colder than they had been only the week before.

“I talked to Ginny today.”

Ross looks up sharply.

“I didn’t tell her about him if that’s what you’re thinking,” she sharply reprimands his unasked question. “But she said that the police force has started searching homes in the village looking for him.”

Ross takes a sip of his tea. “We have plenty of places where we can hide him until he is ready to leave.”

Demelza shakes her head, curls bouncing, “You don’t understand, Ross. They’re searching even falling down sheds without roofs in backfields. They took Zacky Martin in for questioning just because someone said that they thought they saw him leave his house late that evening.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Ross says darkly. 

He opens the door from the kitchen onto the hall and sees Jim standing in the shadows with a stricken look on his face. “I have to leave.” It is not a question.

Ross glances over his shoulder into the kitchen and shuts the door behind him. “Not if you don’t want to leave. We can keep you safe. They have no reason to think that you are here.”

Jim shakes his head. “You’ve already done too much for me. I don’t think I could bear it if I stayed here and you got yourself into trouble. Besides, I’d be caught again and put into a cage. Silver would probably sell me on, and, as bad as he is, I know that there are others who are much worse.

Ross swallows down the tight ache forming in his chest. “Tonight?”

Jim nods. “I’ll be ready.”

* * *

When the sun hangs low in the sky Jim and Ross make their way down the narrow path that leads from the cliff to the rocky beach and the receding tide below. In the falling twilight the last light of the day flashing harshly off the ocean. It burns Ross’ eyes and brings tears to them (at least he tells himself that it is the light).

The rocks shift and crackle beneath their steps.

“Will you be okay out there?” Ross asks looking at the dark, vast, impenetrable swells of the sea.”

“I’ll have to be, won’t I? It’s not like I have much choice,” Jim says with a tight wry smile.

Ross says nothing. There is nothing he can say. He wishes that there was a safe place for Jim to stay, that he did not have to be thrown into a world that he knows nothing about before he is ready.

Jim drops the satchel that holds his skin. He slips off the sandals that Ross had gotten him—Jim had refused to wear shoes or socks. They made him squirm. He would rather go barefoot even on the rock beach than wear close-toed shoes. He reaches for the collar of his shirt to pull it over his head.

Ross catches his hand. “You don’t have to go. You can stay. I’ll find a place,” he pleads.

Jim loops his fingers between Ross’ and steps close. “I do have to leave.” He lifts one hand to Ross’ cheek and his fingers brush the dark stubble there and catches in the unruly hair that is whipped about his face in the sea breeze. Jim’ smile is soft. “But it won’t be forever, not if I can help it.” He raises his eyebrows. “You forget that I don’t know anyone else. Don’t you dare think that you’ll be rid of me so easily.”

Ross shakes his head. He dares not speak because he fears that his voice might give him away. He had not expected to become so attached to the other man over the past week.

Jim steps away.

Ross lets go of Jim’s fingers at the last possible moment. 

Jim pulls his shirt off and sheds the rest of his clothes. The setting sun kisses his bare skin as he bends to pull the translucent, grey skin from the bag. He wades into the ocean until the rushing, hissing, insistent pulling waves encircle his hips, then his waist.

Ross watches.

He stands as close to the water’s edge as possible. The toes of his boots are soaked in a slapping wave, but he does not step away.

Jim turns back to Ross, the setting sun throwing his body into relief and setting his hair aflame. Their eyes meet before Jim pulls the skin on.

Ross looks away from the bright flash of the sun on the water and when he looks back Jim is gone. 

Ross clenches hands into fists and searches the water. Desperately hoping to see Jim one last time. He signs and bends to gather Jim’s discarded clothes. His head whips back to squint into the sun when he hears a splash. He sees Jim’s golden hair dark with sea water and his skin has a healthy glow to it that Ross had not even realized it was missing until this moment. 

“Goodbye,” Jim calls. He adds softly, so softly that only he can hear, “Until we meet again.”

Ross raises a hand in farewell because he does not trust his voice.

He watches as Jim disappears into the ocean. His tail is bright blue and shot through with gold streaks. Ross watches until there is nothing else to see, until he can no longer pretend to see the flash of Jim’s tail in the waves.

Ross returns to gathering the clothes. He carefully folds the t-shirt and briefly lifts it to his face so he can smell the tang of the ocean and the softer smell of Jim. 

He climbs the narrow path in the growing dark. When he crests the rise of the cliff he sees blues and twos sitting outside the gate to his yard. If they search him they will find spare clothes in Ross’ bag. All traces of Jim are gone. The guest linens have been laundered and stored away. The bed folded up and pushed against the wall. And the dinner table is set for two. Jim’s clothes from the carnival long since destroyed—they had burned them together in a barrel behind the barn—and the merman himself was gone, vanished into the depths of the Atlantic.


End file.
